


Nothing Like the Sun

by penny



Category: Eureka Seven
Genre: Community: no_true_pair, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-07
Updated: 2008-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holland has no idea why Dewey ordered him tended to, not after he gave that kid of his orders to shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> For the No True Pair prompt "with the title 'Nothing Like the Sun'"

Of all his injuries, it's the stab wound through his hand that hurts the most. Probably because it's the only blow Dewey struck. Bastard.

Holland has no idea why Dewey ordered him tended to, not after he gave that kid of his orders to shoot. Shoot and kill. And then the lecture about failure when the kid couldn't. Holland snorts. He remembers those lessons. Dewey's never been soft with his words.

Holland traces the bandages over his left hand. Dewey's never been soft with his actions, either. Bastard.

The door to his cell opens, and Holland hears Dewey's short order to the guard, "Leave us." Then Dewey's inside, closing the distance between them with his measured gait. "I see a doctor tended to you."

"Why'd you bother?"

Dewey's expression is appropriately pained. It's probably one he practices in front of the mirror, because the emotion behind it isn't real. "As pitiful as you are, you are still my brother."

"I told you not to call me that!" Holland's up and moving before he has time to think, and as surprised as he is, Dewey's more surprised, because Holland's punch connects. Square on the jaw, hard enough to force Dewey back, and shit, he hasn't landed a blow like that in...well, never. It spurs Holland on. "I'm not your brother. Not after all you've done!"

Dewey recovers, blocks the next punch, delivers his own to Holland's stomach. Then he follows up with a kick while Holland's down and gasping for air. "So you're the same kind of fool as Adrock. How disappointing."

"You're the only fool here." Holland rises, holding his stomach with his injured hand. Damn, his hand's throbbing, and the scuffle's reminded him that he's taken some pretty bad damage breaking into the facility. At least it lets him think it's the pain making him feel weary and defeated, not Dewey. "And I'll see that you fail."

"How do you intend to do that?" Dewey moves across the cell, forcing Holland to back away until he's against the far wall. "Let me tell you again." He grabs Holland's chin, the fabric of his gloves rough against Holland's jaw, and forces Holland to look up and meet his eyes. "Our master was a fool to try to stop the Ageha Project. Killing him was a mercy. Continuing the Ageha Project is a mercy, perhaps one this world doesn't deserve."

"I will stop you." He has to. It's the end of the world if he doesn't. Failure's not really an option with those stakes.

Dewey leans in closer, tightening his grip on Holland's jaw. "How?"

Holland's eyes slide so he's looking to his left, not at Dewey. Matthew's late, but that doesn't mean he's been stopped. Just delayed. Yes, just delayed. He meets Dewey's cold eyes again. "I have a whole team behind me."

Dewey laughs, short and bitter. "A team? They're more useless than you. Tell me, Holland," his fingers squeeze tighter, "how can any of them help you," he shoves Holland down to the floor, grinds his boot on Holland's injured hand, "when you're nothing more than a maggot crawling around on the floor?"

Holland grits his teeth again the pain, curls his good hand into a fist. Dewey's words pound against him, and it's just like before, when he was in the SOF and under Dewey's command. Every failure -- there hadn't been many of them, not until the end, but there had been enough -- ended like this. This mission was supposed to kill that part of himself, but that Holland is still there, still lurking in the back of his mind, still craving this punishment from Dewey. Yes, I am pathetic. Yes, I am a fool. Yes, I deserve this. Please, sir -- please, brother -- punish me.

Dewey backs off his hand, and the roll of pain from the sudden release forces a small cry from Holland. He hates that part of himself, hates that it's making him enjoy this. He feels it now, his cock half-hard and beginning to throb in time with his hand. And the worst thing is, Dewey knows.

They are brothers, after all. Dewey knows everything about him, knows exactly how to handle him. Bastard.

"You still haven't learned your lesson." Dewey grabs the front of Holland's shirt and hauls him back up. "You were always stubborn like this. I once mistook it for promise." He lets go of Holland's shirt and steps back. "But it really is just foolishness."

Holland braces himself against the wall. He wants this now, and he hates that. But he can use that pathetic part of him to buy some time, to distract Dewey until Matthew gets here. Yes. If he's going to be so pitiful, it better be for a good reason. "You haven't changed at all. You still like to hear yourself talk."

Dewey's face tightens. "On your knees."

Holland sinks down to the floor. "What's it going to be, _sir_? Going to make me suck it?" He shifts, drops down to hands and knees. "Or make me take it for good ol' times?"

Dewey's smile is cold and sharp. "Here I thought your goal was the Amita Drive, but no, you wanted to reminisce."

"Yeah. I missed you so much."

"How touching." Dewey tugs off his right glove and slaps it idly over his left palm. "Since you were gracious enough to come all this way for our reunion, I suppose I can be gracious enough to honor your choice. So what do you want, my dear younger brother?" He smirks down at Holland. "To 'suck it' as you so eloquently say, or 'take it'?"

"Take it," Holland rasps. The pitiful part of him wants to suck Dewey's cock, but he can't handle that. He doesn't want to feel Dewey's left hand -- because Dewey isn't going to touch him ungloved -- fisting in his hair, doesn't want to gag around Dewey's cock, doesn't want the taste of the condom lingering on his tongue.

At least if Dewey fucks him, he'll have a reason to like it. As cruel as Dewey is, he knows how to make it feel good.

"Very well." Dewey circles around behind him. "You're not shackled. Present yourself."

Holland fumbles with his belt and pants one-handed. It's too quiet in the cell now, and he can hear Dewey unzipping his uniform, can hear the faint rustle of fabric as he pulls out his cock. And then he can hear the tearing of the condom wrapper -- of course Dewey would have come prepared. Holland doesn't look over his shoulder. He doesn't have to. Dewey's not going to undress for this. He'll stay in uniform -- and manage not to soil it -- as a way of lording his rank.

"Hurry up already," Holland says, pushing his pants down past his hips.

"You have somewhere else to be?"

"Yeah, the _Moonlight_."

"I'm afraid you're mistaking." He spits, the sound theatrically loud because this is a performance, after all. "By dawn, the _Moonlight_ will be under my control. It never should have been under yours."

He lines up, and Holland has a quick moment to inhale and relax as much as he can before Dewey's pushing in, the latex of the condom cooler than Holland expects. Damn, it's more uncomfortable than he remembers. Not painful, at least not in comparison to his injuries, but Holland still winces at the burn.

At least Dewey doesn't talk. Holland couldn't handle that. He can barely handle the pace, agonizingly slow because Dewey is proving a point. He'll make Holland beg for everything.

"Hurry up," Holland says. He can't take the long, slow strokes. They shudder up his spine, make him arch back and clench around Dewey. He's fully hard now, aching.

Dewey's gloved hand wraps around his cock. Holland moans. The fabric's almost too rough, and Dewey's strokes never quite make it all the way up his cock, but it still feels damn good, especially when the pad of Dewey's thumb scrapes along the base of his head.

"I said hurry up!" Holland hates the ragged need in his voice, but it's no use trying to hide it. Dewey would know. He won't give the bastard the satisfaction of a real struggle.

"I'll hurry when you're done," Dewey says, changing the angle of his thrusts slightly so he's pressing deeper, better. "This is, after all, a celebration of old times."

Holland clenches his teeth. "Bastard."

Dewey hums in agreement, and then Holland has a few other choice curses for him. They all roll together because he's close, all tense and reaching for it, trying to thrust back against Dewey, but his brother has his other hand on his hips, holding him in place through the buffer of his discarded glove, the fabric balled up in odd lumps under Dewey's fingers. And as painful as the knowledge that Dewey won't touch him without a barrier, it's also exactly what the pitiful part of him needs to finally come.

Dewey doesn't last much longer. He's proven his point, and Holland thinks he gets off on that more than the actual act. He withdraws, and Holland slumps down, rests his forehead on the cool floor. He can hear Dewey behind him, rolling off the condom, tucking everything back in place.

"Clean yourself up." Dewey drops both of his gloves on the floor.

"No handkerchief?" Holland manages, rising back up on his knees.

"A handkerchief isn't part of the uniform." He fixes Holland with that false pained expression again. "It truly does pain me that our last meeting had to be like this."

"So you are planning to kill me."

"Treason is punishable by death. I've done you the courtesy of arranging a firing squad. It's the most honorable way you can die."

"You don't know anything about honor."

"I know far more than you." He turns sharply and signals for the guards to come back and release him. "Good-bye, Holland."

Holland gathers up the gloves and cleans himself as best as he can. Then he settles down on his cot and leans back against the wall to wait for Matthew. Just delayed. Matthew's only been delayed. He'd come soon enough. Holland smiles. So he failed this time. Next time, he'll kill that pitiful part of himself. And then he'll kill Dewey.


End file.
